Tales of Darkness
by saruviel
Summary: Chronicles of an Age of Darkness by Hugh Cook


Chronicles of an Age of Darkness

Tales of Darkness

By Daniel 'Hugh Cook' Daly

6175 SC

The Wordguild and the Warsmiths

Prologue

Olo Malan is a world beset by terror of every order. Yet in the universe of Bera Shambala, which is connected to Olo Malan by a portal of another Worldring which is rarely connected to, known only by the 'Bragmen' of Chomba Pass in the far northern reaches of Tameran, there exists two fundamental organisations. The Wordguild and the Warsmiths.

Now the Wordguild is based simply on that – Words. And, so it is taught every generation to all and sundry who will listen to the splendid message of salvation as taught by the Wordguild, by the Words of Power was all that is created. And what created all that is? Well, that is the divine mystery, as they rightly say. Thus, words – language – communication – was the true saviour of men, and every word of knowledge honoured, cherished, and taught as truly perfect. The way of enlightenment was thus truly enshrined in the dictionaries of power, the heart and mind of every servant of the Wordguild.

Now the Warsmiths opposed the Wordguild, not out of any deeply thought out philosophy, but rather a simple and banal penchant for that most barbarous of activities – war.

Thus these two powers dominated the hearts of Bera Shambala. The wordguild to bring the salvation of knowledge and education to the world, the warguild to tear it apart.

And thus it was.

And thus it is.

And thus so it shall be.

Chapter One

Toguran Loupaan was a confused individual. You had to be with one parent, the mother superior, the honourable chief member of the town's wordguild cult, and the other, the father dominant, an old fashioned Warsmith, bent on eternal dreams of conquest. Living with the two of them had become – well – quite insufferable, born with the power of a humility greater than that of mortal men. It had to be, for they warred with each other of a constancy greater than the fluidity of the tides of the ocean.

Toguran had a girlfriend. Say Duet. Say was a very attractive girl, and his mother always emphasised that with a very powerful name like 'Say' which was the heart of Word Power, she would indeed make a most excellent wife one day. Toguran didn't disagree. 'As long as she is good in bed,' was the summation of his father's wisdom on the issue, and so far Toguran had not been disappointed on that particular issue since the climax to his 16th years birthday party.

Toguran had a destiny with Mother Superior. To bring the power, knowledge and salvation of a good education to Bera Shambala. He did her no great honour – he was a dunce in school.

Toguran had a destiny with Father Dominant. Neither did he bring him any great honour – a ladybug was more threatening.

But Say Duet loved him, despite his great fears, and lack of bravery, and when he finally won her heart one particular night, in an adventure about to be chronicled, she verily agreed to be his wife.

Chapter Two

Skrag Cromento was a thick enough fella. He couldn't spell, could bearly speak with a mouthful of stutters usually eventuating, and he was none to pretty to boot. But he fancied Say Duet, and wanted her for his bed.

The night got along quite well, in the local Lord's lads birthday party, to which a number of the local underlings children did find invites. Skrag, a fighter, was fortunate, and so were Say Duet and Toguran Loupaan.

Skrag spent most of the night attempting to persuade the delicious say to the back parlour, but say refused, and Toguran, ever the wimp, felt safe enough not to interfere, nor would he, yet he trusted Say's loyalty anyway.

And then, coming into the main living room once more, when festivities around midnight were at their peak, Skrag pulled down his pants in front of all, an erect penis of 7 inches standing at attention, and said verily to his lady desired 'Wel, we, we, well, wel, well, ha ha ha ho how bb bb b b bout it, bab babe.'

Say looked, gasped, and was almost tempted.

But, for the first time in his life, Toguran became a man.

Firstly, words not normally within his power of speech, but taught incessantly since youth by mother superior sprang to his defense.

'I say, you son of a motherless goat. Your trivial, minor and indeed pathetic genitalia would make a squirrel embarrassed. They are indeed large – when compared with those of a gnat.'

Skrag looked at Toguran dumbfounded.

'Oh, you are too dense to understand my profound dialogue of eloquent wisdom. You really are a dunderhead, are you not,' he continued, again with a toffee nosed accent.

'I shall simplify.'

And then, his mother finally and rightfully proud of her son, his father's joy finally borne as well.

'Get your hands of my bitch, pigbrain.'

And Toguran, finding courage beyond himself, strode forward, grabbed Skrag's erect manhood, gave it an Almighty yank, punched him in the face, and that was the end of the trouble.

Toguran was Say's hero.

Chapter Three

4 years later, three little Loupaan's running around his new living room, Toguran was celebrating. He was now the chief man in the village when it came to the Wordguild, and he and his father were recruiting men to start a campaign to conquer life, the universe and everything.

For Say, her man's shagging abilities had notably improved since the illustrious day he came to her rescue, and she could now not wish for another.

Besides, with 3 children, a fourth on the way, and a herd of pigs out the back, what more could one ask for from a citizen of Yalth Tebrek, in the backwaters island of Sang? What more indeed.

The End

The Wild and the Wrathful

Bleatin Blattin was a curious young lad, of 14, hopeful to soon reach 15 and his inheritance, when, deemed of suitable enough age, the high priest of the cult of cockroach worship, the cockies, instructed his adherents to convert Bleatin, a suitable enough candidate, to the cult, in the hopes of finding a new priest for the local chapel. Bleatin was reluctant.

Severus Jander poked him. 'You are hardly a wise priest, Bleatin.'

'I am only an acolyte,' responded Bleatin dejectedly to the wild Severus' insult.

'Is not an acolyte at least to dress properly in fine cockie vestments?'

'Who cares,' responded Bleatin. 'I was forced into the religion by mommie.'

'Pathetic,' mocked Severus. Bleatin didn't care. Severus wandered off.

Mishnah caressed his arm. 'Don't worry about Severus. He is only jealous. His family are devoted Cockies – he probably wanted the job.'

'He can have it,' responded Bleatin, still unconvinced on his life's apparent calling.

'But the Cockroach created all and loves us,' responded Mishnah. 'And they serve us faithfully, eating our discarded waste. They are truly beautiful creatures.'

'Their dirty,' stated Bleatin honestly.

'Don't blaspheme,' warned Mishnah. 'The priests will cut your head off.'

'They can stuff themselves with cockroaches as far as I am concerned,' said the wrathful Bleatin.

Mishnah just sighed.

When he had reached 19, and appointed Priest of the Local chapel, Bleatin had had his fill of cockroach sermons. I mean, how many ways could you praise the wisdom of the humble cockroach anyway? And so, completely buggered with it all, he made his plan – get kicked out, and promote a successor.

It was the sabbath. Bleatin addressed the audience. He looked at Severus. 'You would make a good priest,' said Bleatin, looking at Severus. The audience clapped. 'The Cockroach knows, I can't bloody handle the job. I mean, how many ways can you praise a stupid insect.'

The audience went silent, shocked.

'They eat our waste. They are dirty and spread disease. They are hard to kill. They really are a noxious beast.'

The blasphemy was too much for the audience. Severus' father stood. 'You are not worthy of the calling of a Cockie Priest? You, you are a blasphemer.'

The people murmured agreement.

'What shall we do with him?' someone cried.

'Strip him of his vestments. And stick him in the shit,' said Severus from his seat of new power. Nobody disagreed.

4 days later, not really smelling too much any more, despite being in the bog for most of the afternoon, Bleatin was a relieved man. They didn't care about him anymore. Thank the cockroach for that.

Mishnah showed up, inevitably, caressed his arm, and said. 'Well, I do love the cockroach, and will always be faithful, but I think I can handle a heretic as wonderful as you. As long as you stay out of the shit,' she said, suddenly noticing a lingering smell.

I'll try,' said Bleatin, and Mishnah caressed him again.

The End

The Wishfaerie and the Warcry

Bera Shambala, once connected to the Nexus and thriving, long fallen into disuse by the powers of the Nexus, the experimental world deemed far more trouble than it was worth, for even the Nexus had scruples in the divine manipulations of probabilities they were involved in, was a hell of a planet.

Modeled on Olo Malan, Bera Shambala had been born in the 'Pool of Certainties' by the great 'Alpha-Wurm', to whom it was believed the siring of all decent and credible creations belonged to. Yet, the planetary body having come off the production line, the shapers of merriment, who had completed a 10,000 year secret surveillance of Olo Malan, decided, in their laboratorical genetic manipulations of the forebearers of Bera Shambala's great race of noble creations, to manipulate destiny, through the copulative instincts implanted in scientifically genetic sureties, for a sarcastic alternative creation to the majesty of Olo Malan - a mirror as it were - and utilize suggestive mind manipulation - indeed the voices of the gods - to achieve their hypothesized purposes.

Yet a good while back the voice of the great Alpha-Wurm had verily convicted the shapers of merriment of their nasty proleptic panderings, and they had simply left things be.

And now Bera Shambala produced ucanny resemblances to Olo Malanese culture, albeit with an ironic twist, on a regular, uncanny basis.

Druldruguser Dragonfart Douay was a bastard - quite literally - born out of wedlock, raised by a rather ugly prostitute with a famed missing front tooth and poor hygiene, Gelba Douay constantly assured the sensitive Druldruguser his father had been the most handsome and noble of men, despite Druldruguser intimately aware of the gutter class scum which employed mother's cheap, and quite nasty, services.

'I will now find my father,' said the boasting 16 year old. For he had gone to the pool of wishes, and spent a coin and prayed to the wishfaerie, and she had promised him his heart's deepest desire.

Gelba shrugged. He was off his head again.

'Were is he, mother?'

'Troldok. He is in the palace there.'

And so, taking off for the city of Troldok, 100 leagues up the highway hence northwards, he came to the palace of Troldok, sought entry into the duke's presence, and declared himself, in front of the nobles, son of the duke to the maiden Gelba Douay. The laughter from the court was, indeed, hysterical.

But the duke looked at this poor unfortanuate, noticed the familiar looks on his face, and said 'Indeed, scumlad, I think I can help you. Take him down to the shitman.'

So, being led away, out to the back arse of Troldok palace, he came into the presence of quite an odorous reality, the working quarters of the shitman, who dealt with the various body waste concerns of the palace of Troldok, for it infamously had no plumbing since the losing of a dispute between warring parties and a gamble lost, the loser forgoing plumbing for a three score years and ten, Druldruguser confronted a man, twice his age, yet his spitting image, arms covered in faeces, dealing with some revolting looking substance, who just smiled at him.

'Your Druldruguser, I take it,' said the man.

Druldruguser nodded miserably, staring aghast at his rather pathetic father in his. rather pathetic occupation.

'Well, don't worry too much about it. If you end up in the shit like me, the pay is not too bad in the end.'

And Druldruguser bellowed in a disappointed voice of war 'Dog's bloody Testicles!'

And the shapers of merriment would have smiled at this ironic encounter.

And the world turned.

And the world turned.

The End

The Wailer and the Wentigern

by

Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

The Wailer inhabited the southern hemisphere of Bera Shambala and the Wentigern inhabited the western-northern hemisphere of Olo Malan.

Olo Malan, every fourth year, due to an ageold gravity belt put in place by an old Nexus governor, suffered a change in poles to mainly west by east, but sometimes north-west by south-east, the craziest of years according to scholars of Chi Ash Lan. Thus the four yearly 'Deep Freeze' of the cold west, with snow and ice everywhere,was sometimes altered by the graces of the Wentigern, which all Chi Ash Lan schoolchildren revered, the mythical force of spirit which gave occasional grace periods of warmer weather for the renowned cold west's reputation. The Wentigern was nothing more than a faulty electrical circuit a lazy Nexus programmer overlooked while preoccupied with some CGI of rather buxom ladies in quite scantily dressed clothing. The mistake had long gone overlooked.

The Wailer, on the other hand, was the power of Oracle all Southern Bera Shambalans knew and feared. A mechanical series of speakers raised throughout points on the primary southern continent, around which communities had long since arisen. They were nothing more than speaking modules for Nexus purposes to ultimately harvest employees From Bera Shambala, brute workers needed throughout the Nexus's sprawling civilizations for menial tasks, one of the core imperatives behind the original formation of Bera Shambala by the Alpha-WURM. Yet now, Bera Shambala long ago abandoned by the Nexus for such purposes as far more trouble than worth, the Wailer simply operated every century as a series of communications in some strange tongue, lasting four days, no single Bera Shambalan having a single clue as to the meaning of.

Togura Loupaan had heard of the Wailer, so, travelling to the southern continent of Bera Shambala, the member of both the wordguild and the warsmiths, stood there on judgement day, as it were, armed with his mother's impressive wordguild training, ready to decipher the mysterious messages at there centennial celebration. He waited, surrounded by other Bera Shambalan's, and when the Wailer started speaking, he wrote down, with the mastery of letters, as best he could, the complex communications of the Wailer. And. the four days completed, he returned home, sat with his mother, and the wordguild took an interest in the case personally. One word shone home. Nexus. And, after much deliberation by various wordguild upper hierarchical chiefs, they concluded that the term 'Graznog di Vidaris Summatraka' did approximately translate in the ancient tongues to 'Assemble on Mt Victory', Bera Shambala's highest mountain, never before scaled to completeness by any known manchild - or womanchild for that matter.

'Then it is settled,' said Vortag Tanumber, hierarchical elder in the Wordguild. 'We shall climb the unclimbable. And we shall hire the bravest souls in all of Bera Shambala to do the business for us.'

'Or the most insane,' muttered Togura Loupaan, knowing the treachery of such a proposed climb.

'And we have our first volunteer, don'twe Togura Loupaan?'

The room clapped Togura's selection, and his parent's, proudly looking upon their chosen son, could barely have noticed, midst the celebrations, the long scowl which had appeared on a very annoyed looking Togura Loupaan's face.

'Great,' he said sarcastically to himself. 'An early climb to death.' But the assembled only cheered all the more.

PLOT

Involves the full array of Bera Shambalan main characters as the chosen ones to travel through 'the machine'. They arrive in the Cold West during the Wentigern. Their job is reconnaissance, and the travel Olo Malan for five years, learning the languages and cultures. Near where the machine comes to rest when they are ready to return home the enable a Nexus data-archive transmission device, which send a series of core readings on weather patterns and other geographical readings back to the Nexus, who, after interpreting the data, send a team to make the correction which resulted in the Wentigern. After this there is travel between Bera Shambala and Olo Malan by the chosen ones. the chosen ones, in later books, are viewed as gods by the cold west for ending the Wentigern.


End file.
